Chapter 7
The second leak did not destroy Arthur Beauty.
It made it hotter.
That was the part that unsettled Melissa most.
The new footage—shot from inside the building—showed Andre in a restricted corridor arguing with someone whose face never fully appeared. Just a sleeve. A ring. A voice distorted enough to be useless. The internet devoured it. Think pieces bloomed overnight. “Is Scandal the New Luxury?” one headline asked, breathless. Engagement spiked. Sales climbed.
Andre Arthur had always known how to turn heat into halo.
Which is how, three weeks later, he announced the most extravagant event in company history.
“The Winter Luminary Gala,” he said at an all-staff meeting, pacing in front of a digital rendering of a ballroom dripping in chandeliers. “We lean into mystery. Into transformation. Into power.”
Melissa stared at the projection. The venue: The Metropolitan Crown Ballroom. Black tie. International press. Celebrities. Investors. Rumor had it a pop star was performing.
Jenna leaned toward James and whispered, “He’s insane.”
James, however, looked intrigued.
Andre’s gaze swept the room. “And because you three seem to enjoy surviving chaos,” he said, eyes landing on them deliberately, “you’re coming.”
Silence.
Jenna blinked. “Coming where?”
Andre smiled.
“Paris.”
Melissa nearly dropped her tablet.
The ballroom rendering dissolved into an image of a private jet emblazoned with the Arthur Beauty insignia.
“We’re launching Luminary internationally,” Andre continued. “And I want the architects of Second Shift there.”
James felt his pulse throb in his ears.
Paris.
Private jet.
International launch.
Jenna whispered, “I’ve never even been to Jersey by choice.”
Melissa’s brain attempted to calculate the logistics of couture in winter.
The office erupted in applause.
Simone stood at the back of the room, watching the interns instead of the presentation.
Three days later, they were standing on a tarmac in Teterboro, staring at a jet that looked like it had been airbrushed by ambition.
Jenna squinted at it. “This feels illegal.”
“It’s aspirational,” James corrected, adjusting his coat like he’d always belonged near aircraft.
Melissa hugged her carry-on like it might run away. “We’re interns.”
“We’re international interns,” James said smoothly.
The cabin interior was obscene in the way only billionaire spaces are obscene—cream leather seats, gold accents, champagne already poured. A flight attendant greeted them by name.
By name.
Jenna mouthed, “I’m stealing something.”
Andre boarded last, as always. He wore a charcoal overcoat and the expression of a man who believed gravity did not apply to him.
“First time?” he asked casually as he passed them.
“Yes,” Melissa admitted.
“Try to look unimpressed,” he advised.
The engines roared.
And suddenly, they were airborne.
James pressed his forehead to the window like a child, watching New York shrink beneath them. For a moment, he forgot scandals and leaks and secrets. It was just sky.
Jenna reclined her seat experimentally. “If I die like this, tell people I was thriving.”
Melissa flipped open her laptop, because she was incapable of existing without productivity. But even she paused when the sun dipped beneath the wing, staining the sky molten gold.
Andre watched them from across the cabin.
He looked pleased.
—
Paris was cold and cinematic and cruelly beautiful.
They were escorted from the jet to black cars without ever touching the airport. Melissa catalogued it as “absurd.” Jenna catalogued it as “life-changing.” James catalogued it as “content.”
The hotel—The Hôtel du Ciel—was less a building and more a declaration. Marble floors. Crystal lighting. Staff who moved like whispers.
In their suites, they found wardrobes waiting.
Not racks.
Wardrobes.
Custom-tailored garments labeled with their names. Designer pieces pulled from fashion houses Melissa had only ever seen on red carpets. Shoes that cost more than her student loans. Jewelry on velvet trays.
Jenna stared at a structured emerald gown and whispered, “If I breathe wrong, I owe someone fifty thousand dollars.”
James lifted a midnight velvet tux jacket and felt something shift in his chest. “Oh,” he breathed.
Melissa touched a silver silk dress so soft it felt like a secret.
There were stylists waiting.
Actual stylists.
Hair. Makeup. Skin prep. Tailoring adjustments.
“You’re going to look like a headline,” one stylist told Jenna confidently.
“I already am,” Jenna replied.
James underwent what he referred to as “controlled annihilation.” His brows were shaped within an inch of divinity. His skin airbrushed to luminous perfection. His hair styled to effortless precision that had taken forty-five minutes and three people.
Melissa sat in front of a mirror as a makeup artist transformed her carefully understated face into something luminous and cinematic. Her eyes deepened. Her cheekbones sharpened. Her lips softened into rose.
When she looked up at herself, she didn’t see an intern.
She saw possibility.
Jenna emerged from her suite first.
The emerald gown fit her like power. Structured shoulders. A daring slit. Her curls were defined into glossy volume that framed her face like a crown.
James stepped out next.
The velvet tux jacket sculpted his frame. Crisp white shirt. No tie. Just a hint of chest and an expression that suggested he was either about to seduce someone or bankrupt them.
Melissa walked into the hallway last.
Silver silk draped around her like moonlight. Her hair fell in soft waves. The makeup artist had somehow made her look like she belonged in oil paint.
The three of them stared at each other.
Jenna broke first. “Okay, no one speak to us.”
James grinned. “We are disgusting.”
Melissa laughed nervously. “I feel like I’m impersonating someone important.”
“You are someone important,” James said gently.
Andre appeared at the end of the hallway.
And for once—
He looked impressed.
His gaze lingered on them, slow and deliberate.
“Good,” he said simply. “You look like the future.”
The gala took place in a palace-turned-event space overlooking the Seine. Crystal chandeliers rained light. A string quartet played something haunting. Guests glided across polished floors in couture and diamonds.
Press cameras flashed like lightning.
The Luminary collection was displayed in glass cases that looked like museum artifacts. Dark, moody tones. Winter seduction. “Power after dusk.”
James slipped effortlessly into networking mode, French rolling off his tongue just enough to charm. Jenna stood near the product installation, fierce and magnetic. Melissa fielded questions from European journalists about the analytics behind youth engagement, sounding far more confident than she felt.
Andre worked the room like a maestro.
But underneath the glamour, tension pulsed.
Melissa felt it when Simone brushed past her and murmured, “Enjoy it. Nights like this don’t last.”
James felt it when he noticed two unfamiliar men speaking quietly near the bar, eyes scanning the room like security.
Jenna felt it when she saw Luis across the ballroom.
He hadn’t told her he was coming.
He stood near the balcony doors in a tailored suit, looking infuriatingly handsome.
Jenna approached him like she was approaching a duel.
“You didn’t mention Paris,” she said.
Luis smiled. “Surprise.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You work in product. Why are you here?”
Luis’s expression flickered. Just slightly.
“I was invited,” he said.
“By who?”
“By someone who thinks I’m valuable.”
The words hung there.
Jenna’s stomach tightened.
Across the ballroom, Melissa spotted Andre stepping out onto the balcony alone.
She hesitated.
Then followed.
Outside, Paris glittered. The Seine reflected gold. Cold air cut through silk.
Andre stood at the railing, hands clasped behind his back.
“You clean up well,” he said without turning.
“So do you,” Melissa replied.
He glanced at her, something unreadable in his eyes.
“You like this,” he said softly. “The scale. The strategy.”
Melissa nodded. “I like building things.”
Andre’s gaze sharpened. “So do I.”
There was a beat.
“Who was in the second video?” she asked quietly.
Andre didn’t answer immediately.
Inside, applause erupted as the pop star took the stage.
Andre turned toward her, closer now.
“You’re very persistent,” he murmured.
“You’re very evasive.”
His lips curved faintly.
“You think I’m the villain.”
“I think I don’t know the full story.”
He studied her face as if committing it to memory.
“You will,” he said.
Before she could respond—
A scream shattered the music.
Glass broke inside.
Andre’s head snapped toward the ballroom.
Melissa’s heart slammed against her ribs.
They rushed inside.
The glass case containing the Luminary centerpiece product—gone.
Shattered.
Security swarmed.
Guests gasped.
Simone stood near the stage, pale for the first time.
And on the polished floor, in the center of the broken display, lay a single gold wax seal.
Identical to the one from the first leak.
Chaos, glamorous and glittering, erupted around them.
And for the first time, it wasn’t digital.
It was personal.
